


one foot in the grave

by rmaowl



Series: january [21]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Breakfast, Exhaustion, Food, Food Issues, Fruit, Gen, Hearing Voices, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, I'm Sorry, Insults, Overthinking, Pancakes, Parent Logic | Logan Sanders, Parent Morality | Patton Sanders, Worry, this is painfully short and i am so behind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmaowl/pseuds/rmaowl
Summary: Virgil can feel the chasm between himself and the Light Sides deepening, widening, growing by the second.





	one foot in the grave

Virgil exhales tiredly, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie. It's pointless, all of it. It doesn't make him feel any better. Anxiety still lurks in the shadows of his room, waiting for an opportune moment to rear up and strike. He feels very tangibly vulnerable, like a single touch could shatter him. It's not his favorite way to feel by far. His lower lip is ragged and bloody, torn to shreds by his sharp teeth. He laps up the crimson in an effort to make himself look less broken.

He has to attend breakfast, despite the hellish night he’s had. It’s expected of him, and he doesn’t want to give the Light Sides another reason to believe him a disappointment.

He hoists himself off the ground. His bones ache as he walks.

"Well, don't you look cheery," Roman remarks as Virgil enters the kitchen, leveling him with a glare. Virgil can't muster up the energy to retort, so he simply sinks into a seat, already halfway slumped onto the table. "One foot in the grave, at least," Roman continues, trying to get a rise out of him. "Shall I prepare a coffin?"

"Hey!" Patton exclaims, eyebrows knit together. He's carrying a tray of warm chocolate chip pancakes, which he begins to plate and serve. There’s also a brightly-colored side of fruit, strawberries and blueberries and banana slices piled together. "That's not very kind, Roman." His puppy dog eyes flick to Logan, silently requesting backup.

"Agreed," Logan begins stiffly. "It is generally frowned upon to speak of your friends' seemingly imminent deaths. Mortality is not a topic one often wants to discuss, at least not in a casual manner. Also, you spoke of graves before you spoke of coffins. Were Virgil to step into an empty, earthy pit in the ground, he—" Logan coughs into his fist upon noticing Patton's frustrated and bewildered expression, hands waving wildly. "Please excuse me. I became infinitesimally carried away."

"You sure that was infinitesimal?" Patton grumbles bitterly, pouting. He slides the plated pancakes across the table. Roman takes his share gratefully, flashing a princely smile. Virgil glances at the food with a grimace, as does Logan. Perhaps it's a little sweet for the logical side’s tastes.

Virgil cuts the pancakes into intricate bites. He shifts them around. He squishes them with the back of his fork. He eats the occasional nibble. He doesn't have much of an appetite. Nobody notices, and that's preferable. Everything is fine.

He retreats to his room noiselessly, wondering why he emerged to interact with the others in the first place.

No. He knows why. He wants a connection with them, but he feels unworthy. Deceit whispers in his ear, singing his praises, telling him how much he's changed. He can't tell if he's imagining the slithering voice or not.

"You make me feel like I'm not good enough," he mutters. The voice laughs maniacally in response.

Virgil can feel the chasm between himself and the Light Sides deepening, widening, growing by the second. It's painful, but maybe it's what's best for all of them. Maybe Virgil should duck out again and wait to see how long it takes them to notice. Maybe he should let himself fade. He can feel the tug, the pull of unworthiness, something saying that he is no longer required.

That could very well be imagined, though.

He appears to imagine a lot of things.

He’s slowly realizing how insane he must seem.

Virgil settles into one dark corner of his room and closes his eyes, refusing to watch the shadows dance.

**Author's Note:**

> three noun prompt: defeat, fruit, coffin  
> dialogue prompt: “you make me feel like i’m not good enough.”


End file.
